


Silken String

by avesnongrata



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: AU, F/M, Hitchhiking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 03:59:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1968129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avesnongrata/pseuds/avesnongrata
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of all the places to fall for someone, a gas station convenience store in the middle of nowhere is a terribly inconvenient one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silken String

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the song “Silken String” by the wonderful Gillian Grassie.

“Sorry we can’t take you farther, but we won’t have enough time to go all the way to Albuquerque until Friday afternoon,” the young woman apologizes for the third time that morning. She replaces the gas tank cap on her dusty white pickup truck, then turns to offer Natasha a parting handshake.

“Any little bit helps. Thanks so much for everything.” Natasha hauls her backpack out of the back of the truck and hefts a strap up onto her shoulders. “Good luck with your research.”

“Thanks. Good luck with the rest of your trip. Drop us a line when you get to New York, okay?” The woman climbs back up into the driver’s seat and closes the door behind her.

“Take care! Safe travels,” the woman’s colleague calls, waving through the passenger side window. Natasha waves back as they pull out of the lot, a cloud of dust swirling up behind the truck as they drive away.

Her next order of business is to find somewhere to get out of the heat for a bit. A clatter of bells announces her entry into the little gas station convenience store, catching the attention of the man behind the register. He lifts up his head, glancing her way for a second before returning to the thick paperback in his hand.

“Hey there,” she says as she passes him, making her way to the drinks fridge in the back corner of the store. He only waves in acknowledgment, clearly engrossed in his book.

She sets her pack down and stands pressed against the cool glass door for a few minutes, trying to ease the heat that’s already making her clothes stick uncomfortably close to her skin. It’s barely 8:00 in the morning; today is going to be _hot_.

_Who’s bright idea was it to hitchhike through the southwest in July, anyway?_

The man reaches a stopping spot and tucks an old receipt between the pages as a bookmark before stashing the book below the register. “Sorry, everyone was dying, I had to finish the scene,” he explains by way of an apology for ignoring her when she came in.

“I do the same thing when I’m reading, too.” Natasha gestures toward the book. “ _Game of Thrones_?”

“Nope: Shakespeare.” Natasha starts to look impressed, but the man gives her a lopsided grin. “Just kidding, it is _Game of Thrones_. Though, I’ll read pretty much anything that makes the time pass better.”

She studies him carefully. His left arm is in a sling with a cast that goes from his wrist all the way to just below the sleeve of his black t-shirt, and she isn’t sure whether he just has exceptionally dark circles under his eyes or whether he is actually wearing really smudgy eyeliner, but his eyes and his smile are disarmingly friendly.

“A little early in the day to be bored at work, isn’t it?”

“Not for me. We’re open 24 hours; I’ve been here since 2am.”

She grimaces. “I’d need a book to stay awake, too.”

“I volunteered to take over this shift last week when the air conditioner died. At least it’s a little bit cooler in here at night.  I really can’t stand the heat during the day.” Even as he speaks, a few beads of sweat roll down his face, only slightly hindered by the generous amount of dark stubble on his jaw.

Natasha feels a trickle of sweat run down the back of her neck as well. “Neither can I.” She gathers her hair into a ponytail to get it off her neck and shoulders, but she doesn’t have a hair tie to hold it back.

To her surprise, the man digs in his pockets for a moment and then hands her one. He points sheepishly to his own messy ponytail. “I always carry a spare.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” he grins at her again. “I’m James, by the way.”

“Natasha.” She shakes his hand when he offers it. “Nice to meet you, James.”

“So, Natasha, what brings you to hot, crappy, Middle-of-Nowhere, New Mexico?”

“I’m just passing through. I wish I could have picked a better season for a road trip, but what are you gonna do?”

James leans back on the counter behind him, looking at her with curiosity. Now that he’s no longer slouching, he’s actually quite tall. “Are you hitchhiking?”

“Yes.”

“I wondered why your friends just drove off and left you here. Hell of a place to get stranded.”

Natasha shrugs. “I’m not really stranded. I’ve got a friend coming down from Albuquerque to pick me up in an hour or so. Do you mind if I hang out until he gets here?”

“Not at all. It’ll be nice to have some company for a change. Do you want some coffee while you wait?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t really have the money to spare.”

“I won’t tell anyone if you won’t. This pot’s old; I should probably throw it out anyway.”

“Yum, stale, burned gas station coffee.”

He laughs at her sarcasm. “It’s not that bad. What is it they say about beggars being choosers?”

“In that case, yes, I’d love some, thank you.” She can’t help but smile at him. If she’s going to be stuck here for an hour, at least she’s found someone interesting to pass the time with. After the rough couple of months she’s just had, a friendly face and some harmless flirting might be exactly what she needs.

He grins back and hands her two cups, gesturing toward the soda machine. “Fill them with ice and I’ll pour the coffee over it. It’s too hot in here to drink it hot.”

“Good idea.” She fetches two heaping cups of ice and returns to the counter with them. As an afterthought, she holds the cups steady while James pours the coffee with his good hand.

“What happened to your arm?” she asks while they wait for the coffee to chill.

“I fell off a train.”

Natasha can tell from the way he puffs his chest out that he’s incredibly proud of the fact. She finds herself just as excited to hear the story as he clearly is to tell it. “How did you manage that?” she prompts.

“I was trying to hitchhike, too, believe it or not. It’s a lot harder than it sounds.” Natasha nods emphatically. “I started out in Brooklyn, where I grew up, and I made it about as far as Chicago, but then I started having really bad luck getting rides. At the time, switching to hopping on and off trains sounded like a great alternative...” He laughs wryly. “About three weeks ago, though, I mistimed my jump trying to get off the train in Albuquerque. Now I’m stuck working here until the cast comes off.”

Natasha winces sympathetically. “And how long will that be?”

“I dunno. A couple more weeks, at least.” He wipes the sweat away from his eyes with the back of his right hand. “I get what you mean about wishing you’d picked a better time to be here. I don’t know what I’m gonna do if my boss doesn’t get this AC fixed soon.” He takes a sip of his iced coffee, and Natasha follows suit.

It’s _terrible_. Natasha tries to be polite and keep a straight face, but she gives up once James all but spits his out.

“Oh god, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize it was _that_ burned,” he apologizes profusely.

Natasha stubbornly takes another sip. “At least it’s cold.”

“Thank god for that,” James agrees. He lifts his cup and presses it against his cheeks and forehead. “In retrospect, it was pretty dumb of me to leave New York. They have seasons there. I miss the winter,” he pouts dramatically, and she gives him the laugh he was fishing for. “I could go for a good, old-fashioned snowball fight right about now.”

“I’d kick your ass in a snowball fight,” she retorts matter-of-factly.

“You think so, huh? Well, I’ve gotta warn you: I’ve got a really good arm, so just wa – “ He coughs and splutters in surprise when Natasha deftly tosses a piece of ice into his mouth as he brags. She cocks a smug eyebrow at him, and he throws up his hands in defeat. “Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” he concedes jovially. “No snowball fights. I guess we’ll have to come up with some other way to pass the time.”

As he continues to smile at her, Natasha finds herself having a harder and harder time meeting his eyes. She’s had some pretty spectacularly ill-timed crushes in her life, but if that’s what’s happening to her now, this one takes the cake. Her cheeks start to burn at the thought, so she takes another sip of terrible iced coffee to cover for it.

James smirks at the disgusted look she can’t keep off her face, thanks to the burned coffee, and she gets stuck watching him.

_Oh no._

She casts about the small shop for something – anything – to do other than get caught staring at him. Her eyes alight on the cup of miscellaneous pens and markers next to the register. “Can I draw on your cast?”

“I don’t see why not,” he agrees surprisingly quickly, pulling his left arm out of the sling and propping it on the counter between them. “I’ve only got red and black markers, though.”

“I can work with that.” She pulls the cup closer and fishes out the red and black Sharpies. For a while, neither one of them talks. Natasha’s left hand rests on his forearm – albeit on top of the cast – while she works. She tries to concentrate on her drawing, though she has to admit the way he watches her is incredibly distracting.

James tires of the silence first, breaking it with a self-conscious cough. “So, what’s your story? Are you trying to get somewhere fun?”

“More like trying to get away from somewhere.” She’s surprised at how comfortable she is talking to this man she’s only known for less than an hour. Granted, talking to strangers has gotten easier for her after the weeks of practice on the road, but this is somehow different. For the first time since she set out, she actually wants to tell someone her story.

“I followed an ex to San Francisco after college. It... didn’t end well.”

“That’s what you get for following an ex,” James interjects, trying to lighten the mood.

“He wasn’t my ex at the time, smartass.”

“Ooohhhhh.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at his moment of mock understanding. She replaces the cap on the red marker and uncaps the black one before continuing. “After we broke up, I had no reason to stay in San Francisco. I don’t really have a reason to be anywhere else, either, so I figured I’d just hitch a ride going anywhere at all and see where I end up. I travelled down the coast to San Diego, then there was pretty much nowhere else to go but east. Those people who dropped me off earlier picked me up in Flagstaff on their way back from a conference. That’s the longest I’ve travelled in any one vehicle at a time, come to think of it. Really interesting people: they work at the ecological research station near Socorro. They even let me stay with them last night.” She trails off, momentarily distracted by a detail of her drawing.

James lets her work for a few more minutes, then prompts her to keep talking. “Where’s home for you?”

Natasha makes a face. “I’m from Volgograd originally, but it’s not really home.”

“Russia?”

She nods.

“Cool. Ever miss it?”

“Not at all.” The bitter tone of her voice makes James scramble for a new topic. Inwardly, Natasha is grateful for his discretion.

“Uh... are you headed anywhere in particular?”

“I was thinking of going to New York City, but I’m in no hurry to get anywhere.”

“You should do it! It’s a hell of a place.”

“So good you had to run away to be a railroad hobo?” she teases.

James laughs. “Can’t a guy have an adventure? I’ll end up back there eventually. I always do.”

Natasha puts down the marker and raises her head, looking him directly in the eye. “Look me up when you get there?”

He blinks at her, then nods, eyes wide. “Sure.”

To her surprise, he reaches out and places his hand on hers. For a moment, all she can think of is threading her other hand into his thick, wild hair and kissing him until their ears pop. The next thing she knows, he’s leaning across the counter towards her, so close she can feel the heat of his skin even above the heat of the room. It would be so easy, she thinks, to just meet him the rest of the way. To just lean in, kiss him, and then go get in a car and leave him behind. It’s the ‘leave him behind’ that sounds the hardest, and at the last moment it’s enough to make her pull away.

To his credit, James backs off, only looking stung for a second or two. He recovers quickly, turning his attention to his cast. “Would you look at that! That looks bad-ass!” He turns his arm as much as he can with the cast on. He grins at the large red star she’d drawn over the elbow and traces his fingers along the geometric, almost topological designs covering the rest of the cast, mirroring the muscles underneath. “Thanks.”

Natasha starts to answer, but they both get distracted by the black truck that just pulled up to the pump.

“Is that your friend?”

Natasha squints out the window, trying to get a good look at the driver. “I think... yes! I’ll be right back.” She rushes out the door, making the bells clatter again. Her friend climbs out of the truck and grins when he sees her, his arms spread wide.

“Hey, you! It’s been awhile. I’m sorry to make you wait,” he greets her, pulling her into a hug.

She returns the hug and greets him with a kiss on the cheek. “I don’t mind the wait. I had some company.”

“Come on, are you ready to go?” He asks, motioning toward his truck.

“Give me just a minute.” Natasha doesn’t wait for a response before she jogs back to the store to grab her bag.

And to say goodbye.

James – at a loss for words, for once – only watches her pick her bag up off the floor and settle the straps on her shoulders. He wears a slight frown in place of his earlier friendly smile, the dark smudges around his eyes making it look like a glower.

This time it’s Natasha’s turn to break the silence. “I guess this is goodbye. It was nice to meet you, James. Thank you for your time.”

He gives her a small half-smile. “It was my pleasure. Have a safe trip, okay?”

Natasha nods, willing herself to move, to turn around, to walk away. Instead, she picks up the red marker and reaches for his arm again. On the inside of his elbow – where it won’t interfere with the rest of her design – she writes ‘Natasha’ and her phone number in neat, small print. She recaps the marker, sets it on the counter, and turns to leave, trying to avoid looking at his face.

“Goodbye, James.”

“Hey, Natasha?” he calls over one final chime from the bells above the door.

She pauses and looks back at him over her shoulder.

His face breaks into a grin. “I’ll see you later.”


End file.
